


The Herald of Andraste

by disdainfulAvenger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, first fic, young inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfulAvenger/pseuds/disdainfulAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She cries in her sleep. Whimpers, begs for the family that no longer lives. Begs for the demons from the Fade to leave her be. While she is awake she sheds no tears; she clenches her fists and sets her jaw, and she refuses to look Cassandra in the eye."</p><p> The Herald of Andraste is many things. An elf, a mage, an individual with the ability to manipulate the Fade. She is a child, too young for the Vallaslin, too young for the fate of the world to rest upon her shoulders. </p><p>Yet Thedas depends upon her. And so she depends upon the Inquisition, the men and women who become her comrades-in-arms, her teachers and her students, her friends and her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated sporadically at best. Leave a kudos or comment to make me happy!

 

She cries in her sleep. Whimpers, begs for the family that no longer lives. Begs for the demons from the Fade to leave her be. While she is awake she sheds no tears; she clenches her fists and sets her jaw, and she refuses to look Cassandra in the eye.

She is but a child. Barely seventeen, with a charred hole in her left hand that glows green.  Too young to bear the intricate tattoos of the Dalish – _Vallaslin_ , Cassandra remembers, _they are called Vallaslin_. The girl survived the blast that kills thousands. The girl is a threat.

And Cassandra should treat her as such. _But she is a child_ , the Seeker reflects, feeling an odd pang when she remembers the first time she encountered the Dalish elf. The Temple of the Sacred Ashes had lain in ruins all about them and Cassandra had drawn her sword and held it to the throat of the girl who had walked out of the Fade. _“You are the only threat I see.”_ Anger had made her impulsive, made her words sharp. And the girl…the girl stared at her with frightened brown eyes and backed away slowly, her hands shaking. She had feared Cassandra. She still does.

Cassandra fears the girl, in some ways. The Fade has marked the girl, changed her. And the girl can change the Fade. _I saw what she did,_ the Seeker recalls, I saw how _she manipulated the Fade and bent it to her will._

She is dangerous.

She is a child.

Her name is Aislinn Lavellan. Cassandra learns this on the second day. It is the first time the girl has spoken more than five words at once. The girl speaks bitterly and quietly, and Cassandra listens. “My name is Aislinn,” the girl says, “Aislinn Lavellan.” She clenches her left hand. How she can still use it is beyond Cassandra’s comprehension – the Seeker can see white bone and blackened flesh beyond the glowing green light. “I am Dalish. I did not ask for this to happen for me. I did not ask for _any_ of this.”

Then she falls silent. Cassandra repeats each word silently. _I am Dalish. I did not ask for this to happen to me. I did not ask for_ any _of this._ She looks at the girl, sitting stiffly in the saddle of her docile mare, and nods.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast, and I only want answers. And you – you escaped what killed so many others. That is why I will have you come with me.” She does not know what else to say, in all honesty. _You have answers._ The girl claims that she cannot explain what forces tore the Veil asunder. She denies involvement. Perhaps her story will change.

Perhaps she is telling the truth.

And Aislinn Lavellan looks at Cassandra for the first time since Cassandra held a sword to her throat. Aislinn’s eyes are brown. Brown and tired, weary, pained. Almost resigned. “Very well.” Aislinn shifts uncomfortably in her saddle. She is clearly not used to riding horses. “You should also know that I am a mage.”

 _A mage._ Cassandra has not seen the girl use magic, and she does not carry a staff, and so Cassandra did not suspect such a thing. In the end it matters little. The girl can manipulate the Fade. That takes precedence over any other ability she might bear.

The wind stirs. It brings the smell of smoke with it. Behind them, the torn Veil darkens the sky.

They ride on.


	2. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments!

Piece by piece, Cassandra begins to assemble Aislinn Lavellan’s story.

Her parents died only a year ago. Aislinn does not say why, so Cassandra does not press her, for she also knows the pain of losing loved ones.  One day the girl may tell Cassandra – one day, if she ever feels comfortable enough to share this clearly traumatic memory.

Aislinn also tells Cassandra that she is apprentice to her clan’s Keeper, and was sent by this Keeper to spy upon the Conclave. Cassandra looks at the girl – pale and skinny with her wide scared eyes – and thinks, _her, a spy? Maker above, who would send an inexperienced child to spy on the Conclave_?

“Why you?” she inquires, wondering why Aislinn’s Keeper would do such a thing.

“I don’t know,” Aislinn says to the ground. “There were others that were more suited to the role. Perhaps it was because I am her First.”

_Perhaps it was fate,_ Cassandra considers. _You survived, did you not? And you were marked. But why?_ Over the last few days, she has asked herself this question almost constantly. _Why the girl? Is she special?_ Nothing of Aislinn Lavellan seems remarkable, save the glowing green hole in her left hand that signifies her powers and what she has survived.

But the girl _will_ surprise Cassandra. She knows this much.

The Seeker clears her throat. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You asked, didn’t you?”

“I did not ask about your parents,” Cassandra says, watching as Aislinn clenches her jaw and stares at the rutted dirt track. “You did not have to speak of them.”

The girl is silent for a while. When she speaks, her voice is so soft that Cassandra has to strain to hear her words. “You said you would help me. With – with this.” Aislinn holds out her left hand, where the Fade has forever marked her. And Cassandra _has_ said that she will help Aislinn to find answers – and not just for the child’s sake. “I was supposed to spy, that was all. Spy on the humans and then return to my Keeper and tell her what I saw. But I need answers of my own. I need to know why this happened. So do you.” She closes the fingers of her left hand into a fist. “And for that to happen, we need to trust each other.”

She is right. They _do_ need to trust each other, despite the fact that Cassandra does not know _why_ Aislinn Lavellan survived a blast that killed so many, despite the fact that Cassandra held a sword to the girl’s throat and threatened to kill her.

Aislinn Lavellan, scared and young, is right. They must learn to trust each other.

And Cassandra knows that trust is something that must be worked towards: something that cannot be gained in an instant with a few well-meaning words. “We do need to trust each other,” she admits.

Aislinn nods, the muscles of her jaw relaxing. “That is why I told you about my parents,” she says, glancing at Cassandra. The shadows beneath her eyes are darker, deeper. Already skinny, she is beginning to look gaunt. Almost absentmindedly, Cassandra reaches into one of her saddlebags and produces a small loaf of flatbread she had baked in the morning. She offers it to Aislinn, who takes it after a moment of hesitation.

“I will help you find answers,” Cassandra says. It is the second time she has said this to Aislinn, and it sounds more like a promise this time. Perhaps it is the way she says the words: they ring with conviction as they leave her lips, strengthened by her fierce desire to answer all of the questions that the destruction of the Conclave has left her asking.

“Thank you,” says Aislinn Lavellan, tearing off a piece of bread. “And I will do my best to help you.”

She offers the piece of flatbread to Cassandra, who accepts it with a nod. It is the third day of their journey from the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, and Cassandra cannot dismiss the thought that the two of them have come far already.


End file.
